Attacked
by Sukuru
Summary: Updated: Part Four! Who was the woman in the picture, and how does she tie in with Chekov's attack? And, furthermore, why won't Chekov tell the Captain who attacked and almost killed him?
1. Attacked

Author's Note: I wrote this when I was feeling really depressed. So I though I'd take it out on a fictional character. . .soz, Chekov fans. This might become a story. I don't know yet.  
  
~~  
  
He hadn't anticipated the first punch. Or the second. Third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh. . .they all came as a shock.  
  
The young figure that had been knocked to the floor clutched at his face and gasped as he felt the extent of the damage, the blood running between his fingers, dripping onto the floor with his salty tears.  
  
"Vhat. . .vhat're you doink?" He cried as the tall figure above him loomed over his fragile form and grabbed his collar, "no, please, don't hurt me! Please, no more!" A fist smashed into his jaw, almost dislocating it, then a boot, complete with foot, swung itself into his spine, shifting his vertebrae out sync, then back into place.  
  
"Please don't hurt me anymore!" A pathetic whimper, "please. . .?"  
  
The menacing figure stopped, then laughed cruelly, "Nice one, Pavel! 'Don't hurt me anymore, I'm just a pathetic twerp called Chekov and-I-ken't-do-a- thing!'" At the last words, the foot crashed against Chekov's ribs at every syllable, "you're a weirdo, a Russian weirdo! You belong in a Zoo!"  
  
Pavel curled into a into a little ball on the floor and started to howl as painful jolts ripped through his being, praying that someone would find him before. . .before. . . 


	2. Vakink Up

"I dunno, Jim. Pretty bad damage. One more kick and his ribs. . . well, I'd hate to think what condition his lungs would be in."  
  
"Thanks, Bones. D'you know who did it?"  
  
"We think it was Lieutenant Green. . . trouble was, no one saw it, so we can't exactly accuse anyone without evidence. . .I mean, if Chekov could tell us maybe we could at least give him a warning.but the quarters we found him I, the surveillance cameras had been out for ages. I don't even know if they worked in the first place. . ."  
  
Pang. Pang. Pang.  
  
Agony throbbed through the young body on the Bio-Bed, a groan escaping his lips, for there were no words that could describe the pain that was echoing around his figure like a swarm of bees around a hive.  
  
"Chekov?"  
  
No. No. No.  
  
No noise, thought the figure, please, just no noise.my head, my ears, my arms, my legs.someone, please, put me out of this misery.  
  
"Chekov? Chekov?" The voices became less slurred, and the wounded young man tried to open his hazel eyes. The light that shone in stung, and he closed them again, sucking air in between his teeth.  
  
"Chekov, please, try and stay awake."  
  
Until then, he hadn't needed to try. But as soon as his tired brain registered the word 'sleep', it immediately tried to do so.  
  
A jolt ran through his neck as a flow of ice-cold liquid passed from the needlepoint of a hypospray into the warm veins, making him cry out and try and bat the hand that was holding the instrument away.  
  
Suddenly, his body filled with energy, and he was able to open his eyes fully, the light tolerable, and sit up slightly.  
  
But as soon as he did, his chest constricted and forced him to gag, a warm, metallic rush of thick liquid shooting up his throat.  
  
He coughed it out onto the sheets, startled to see that it was in fact blood, then looked down at himself dozily. There were linen bandages wrapped around his chest, a stiff cast on his arm and, from what he could feel, a lump at the left side of his jaw line. He ran his fingers along it, discovering that it felt like a long thin rod of metal, then looked up at the blurred figures around him. He blinked several times, clearing his mind and eyes of unconsciousness, then looked again.  
  
Captain Kirk, Spock, DeSalle and McCoy were to his left, Rand, Chapel and Riley were to his right.  
  
"I thought you said you'd sorted his lungs out?" Kirk asked, staring at the blood Chekov had just coughed up on the sheets.  
  
"The best we could. There'll be some blood left in there, but he'll cough it up."  
  
"Isn't that dangerous?" Rand asked, blinking at McCoy, "couldn't he choke?"  
  
"Rand, you could choke on water and therefore conclude that all drinkable liquids are dangerous. It's all we could do, alright?"  
  
"Yeah, whatever." Rand muttered. She glanced at the digital clock on the wall and sighed, "I gotta go. Duty and all that."  
  
"How did. . .how did I get here?" Chekov winced at how sore his jaw felt when he spoke. He blinked a few times, then looked up unsurely at the people around him.  
  
The last he could remember. . .  
  
"Lieutenant DeSalle heard a commotion from your quarters. He ran to the nearest Comm. Terminal and called Security. By the time they reached you, your attacker was gone." Kirk explained, "Chekov. . .who-"  
  
"For God's Sake," McCoy snapped, his usual over-protective bedside manner kicking in, "Jim, he doesn't need this as soon as he-"  
  
"Bones," Kirk turned away from Chekov and glared at his friend, "if there's an illegal alien on this vessel, then I have to know."  
  
"Negative." Spock butted in, "I am the only non-human life onboard."  
  
Kirk looked at Chekov meaningfully, "Mr. Chekov, who?"  
  
"I ken't tell you." This took everyone by surprise. Every Star Fleet officer swore blind that they would always give their Captain the required information. Not doing so was considered a breach of Security.  
  
"Chekov, I order you-"  
  
"Sair, you can court martial me for all I care. I ken't tell you. And I newer vill."  
  
There was a short pause, then Kirk, tightly, said, "fine. Alright. I'll give you a few days to change your mind."  
  
He walked out, a few bemused glances being stolen at his back.  
  
No one ever said no to Captain James T. Kirk. 


	3. An Arguement

Attacked: Part Three: Friendship  
  
~~  
  
Reviewer Response:  
  
Sarah: Yeah, I know, bad Sukuru! I meant the Sick Bay scene to be slightly longer, but I just couldn't figure out what to write, so I ended it really quickly. There's more Sulu and Uhura in this Chapter, though.  
  
Ariennye: Aw, thanks! And please write an Elevator Enterprise part three. . .please?  
  
Penguin Queen: It wasn't that powerful, was it? Oh well, thanks anyway!  
  
Empress Leia: Sorry for a few hours ago! Hope you feel better now.  
  
Kaz: Yeah, I am. Till I found out the only food we have in the house is POTATO!  
  
I-Am-bug: Actually, I think Green got murdered in "The Man Trap". *Checks* Hmm. . .yes, he was. Killed, I mean. But, heck with it, it's Star Trek. There's no continuity anyway.  
  
~~  
  
Chekov nestled his head back further into the pillow and glared at the ceiling, ignoring the man who sat beside him and clenching his fists.  
  
What was it to them? Okay, he got in a fight; so? He got into a fight on K- 7, he got into a fight on Triskelion, he tried to get into a fight when he was affected by the Beta-X entity.  
  
No-one made a big deal then, why should they now?  
  
"Pavel..." Sulu shifted uncomfortably on his chair and sighed.  
  
Whenever Chekov gave him the cold shoulder he knew something was wrong. Just like the time the ship had been taken over by those weirdoes who wanted to find Eden...Chekov had ignored him when asked about Irina. And asked, and asked.  
  
The young Russian contemplated rolling over onto his side and pulling the blanket over his head, then cursed silently in Russian. A) He couldn't roll over because he had broken ribs, and they would crack further if he turned over and B) He couldn't pull the blanket over his head because he was claustrophobic and it remind him of...of...  
  
"Vhy ken't you just leave me alone?" He snapped instead, easing himself a bit higher on the pillows and finally meeting Sulu's gaze with a glower, "it's none of your business, okay? If I vanted you to know I vould tell you!"  
  
"It's obviously something deeply personal," Sulu stated bluntly in a negotiating tone, "but it would feel better to get it off your chest-"  
  
"It's been on my chest for the last nine years."  
  
"That's what I mean."  
  
"You're the last person I vould tell ewen if I could tell someone."  
  
"What?" That took Sulu by surprise, "why?"  
  
"Because before I'd know it you'd've told Uhura, then she vould have told Rand, then Rand vould have told the Keptin and the Keptin vould then've inwited me to his office for a nice long chat and before you know it I'll be in COUNSELLING!"  
  
Chekov had sat up properly now and was ignoring the protest in his chest. His face had flushed a deep scarlet and his breathing was becoming more laboured: through stress and his ribs.  
  
"Lie back down." Sulu's voice was literally brimming with hurt, but he still worried about his friend, "you'll just hurt yourself some more."  
  
"Fat lot you care!"  
  
"I DO care, actually, I care more than everyone else on this ship!"  
  
"No you don't! If you really care then you'd just leave me alone - argh!" Chekov clutched a hand to his chest and put the other back on the bed to steady himself, "just...get....out..."  
  
"No." Sulu reached out his own hand to steady his friend, who slapped it away and lay back down.  
  
"Out."  
  
"No."  
  
"Get out. Now. Before I call the security guard outside the door."  
  
"Chekov-"  
  
"I SAID, GET OUT! Just get out of this room! Now!"  
  
"Okay, okay. I'm going."  
  
Chekov watched the dejected form slink out of the door, scowling. He took a second look to make sure Sulu was gone, then brought his monitor close up to him and accessed his personal photo album.  
  
The first photo in there was of a woman with large brown eyes, long brown hair and clear white skin. She wasn't exactly beautiful; she was close enough to pretty.  
  
Chekov stared at her face for a long time before suddenly, angrily, shoving the monitor away and lying flat out again.  
  
"Dad..." He hissed at the empty room in general, "if I ever find you, I'm goink to KILL YOU!" 


	4. The Art Contest

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek. I do own Chekov's dad, the strange woman in the photo and Ensign Chêchanna.  
  
~~  
  
Attacked: Part Four: The Art Contest  
  
~~  
  
Reviewer Response:  
  
Broken Infinity: Heeheehee...I love evil cliff-hangers....  
  
May Solo: Yes ma'am. Doing it now.  
  
Penguin Queen: It's not weird. It makes you feel sorry for them.  
  
Ariennye: Okay, I'm living up to the deal. I didn't think you'd update that fast...  
  
I-Am-Bug: You're scaring me too.  
  
SherryGabs: So is everyone, it seems...  
  
~~  
  
A/N: Sorry it's taken me so long to update...but I have to be in a depressed mood to write depressing stories...  
  
~~  
  
McCoy had told Chekov that he had to stay in Sick bay for another week; his ribs had healed properly and the Doctor was concerned that they could break again very easily.  
  
It was during this week that Ensign Chêchanna, new in from Space Dock, broke her hip by falling out of an Engineering Inspection Hatch and broke her hip and pelvis. She was assigned to the bed next to Chekov's.  
  
It was also in this week that the Psycho-Analyst Peterson ran a test on the crew and discovered that moral had sunk by 16.8%. He brought it up at a Staff Meeting and it was decided, mainly by Lieutenant Uhura, who usually took such meetings over by sheer willpower, that an Art Contest should be run.  
  
So, when Ensign Chêchanna was brought into Sick Bay, bandaged up, been given a thorough warning not to be so silly again from Scotty, then finally left in peace, she pulled out a sketching pad and a pencil (such things she always seemed to carry around) and started to draw something lightly on the paper.  
  
Chekov kept his back to her, and the sheets pulled up to just below his ear. He hated lying in Sick Bay. It always made him feel helpless, like everyone else on the ship was working but he could not, and that that mean that everyone hated him and called him lazy behind his back.  
  
Just like at home. Whenever he had a cold, whenever he had the flu. It had always been the same.  
  
"Vhat your problem is," His father had spat at him one day when he had slid over on some ice in Moscow's central park area, broken his ankle and had been let of school by his mum, "that you're too scared to go out into the real world. Look at you. You could have gone to school today; all you had to do vas use that crutch-thing the Hospital gave you. But did you? No. I can't believe I have YOU for a son."  
  
And he had cried. And, of course, that had just made it worse. In Chekov's childhood home, you were not allowed to cry. If you did, you were beaten.  
  
Chekov closed his eyes and winced as he felt the ghost of his father's belt across his back. His silky black hair fell over his face, hiding the tears that had started to form in the two shining brown orbs, then put his hands over his mouth to hide a sob.  
  
He didn't hide it well enough, however, for Chêchanna looked up from her sketchpad and studied his quivering back for a while before asking, "you alright?" She had a thick Liverpudlian accent, which was laced through with a little concern.  
  
Chekov bit back whilst answering, "I'm fine." In a snippy tone. Chêchanna sighed in a mock-impatience kind of way and shook her head.  
  
Stupid men and their stupid pride*. They refused to show any kind of emotion unless their favourite Aerospace Football Team had lost** and they are drunk. Then there were bar stools being thrown everywhere.  
  
"You sure you're alright? D'you want me to get the Doctor? Chekov?"  
  
The Russian turned around, startled and forgetting about his red eyes and wet cheeks, "How d'you know my name?"  
  
"We went to the Academy together. I sat behind you in Geometry. I flicked rubber bands at you, remember?"  
  
"Sort-of." Right now, his memories were all in a haze. He lay on his back and stared at the smooth metal ceiling, the arm that wasn't in a sling behind his head.  
  
"So, what happened to you?" Chêchanna asked between rubbing out a line in her drawing and correcting it.  
  
"Fight." Chekov replied simply. If she did remember him that well from the Academy, she'd know that he always gotten into fights.  
  
"Again?" Evidently, she did, "what is it with men and fighting anyway? It's not very attractive."  
  
There was a bell ringing in Chekov's head. He did remember Chêchanna. She was always getting into fights as well. He opened his mouth to argue as such, but then remembered she won every verbal fight as well and shut it again.  
  
He felt the metal rod along his jaw line and glowered. Why couldn't've his attacker broken his jaw? Then he wouldn't have to talk to anyone and it would be great.  
  
"Whose the woman on the monitor, then?" He sat up at this question and glanced at the Monitor screen. The picture of the woman from his file was still displayed there. He must have fallen asleep and left it on.  
  
"Vhat's it to you?"  
  
"Well, seeing as though I just drew a picture of her, I ought to know her name." He looked at the sketchpad's open page that she was holding up to show him. It was perfect.  
  
"Anastasia." He replied through gritted teeth, "Her name is...WAS, her name WAS Anastasia Andreievich Chekov."  
  
Chêchanna wrote the name at the bottom of the pad next to her signature, then looked up and frowned at him.  
  
"Wait a sec. Wasn't she your mum?"  
  
"Yeah. So?"  
  
"What happened to her? You're talking about her in the past-tense."  
  
"Yeah vell..." Chekov looked over at her with fresh tears hiding behind his eyes, "she vas murdered, vasn't she?"  
  
~~ 


	5. Gone

Attacked: Part Five: Gone  
  
~~  
  
A/N: Okay, to make up for the lack of updating I have done two chapters in a row.  
  
~~  
  
"Murdered?" Chêchanna repeated stupidly, gazing at the serious expression on his face, "what, as in...murdered?"  
  
"That's usually vhat the vord 'murdered' means, yes." Chekov replied coldly, laying back down on the pillow and staring at the ceiling, "I just came home from school vun day and found her lying out on the rug vith a knife in her back."  
  
"That's...horrible." Chêchanna murmured, staring at him in dismay, "d'you know who did it?"  
  
"Oh yes."  
  
"Did you tell the police?"  
  
"Oh no." Chekov shook his head against the headrest, his hair spreading out slightly on the soft material, "or I vouldn't be here now, vould I?"  
  
Chêchanna stared at him for a few seconds more before McCoy walked into Sick Bay, back from lunch-break.  
  
"Ah, I see you two are talking to one another." He commented, "good. How'd you feel, Chekov?"  
  
"Fine as ewer." The young navigator responded coolly, picking at his nails, "although I am a leetle bored."  
  
"Hmm. Well, you can access the ship's library through that monitor. Chêchanna, you log in the books, have we got any new ones?"  
  
"Yes. By Isaac Asimov too. He was a Russian/American author."  
  
"Alright. I'll try those."  
  
"Chêchanna?" McCoy had picked up a clip file from his desk and was looking at it, "you haven't had a Scan yet for that hip of yours. We're gonna hafta stretcher you to the Analysis Chamber - slightly stupid name, I know, but it serves it purpose."  
  
"Why, Doctor," Chêchanna teased, "you sound almost like Mr. Spock."  
  
"Thank you." McCoy said with a forced smile, "Chekov? You gonna be alright on your own for a while?"  
  
"Yes Doctor." Chekov replied, his eyes glued to the first story of "Robot Visions", "I'll be absolutely fine."  
  
"Alright. If you want anything though, you just comm. Nurse Chapel. She's on duty in the Nurses Office on the deck below us."  
  
"Aye." The Russian replied automatically. He hadn't actually registered anything McCoy had just said.  
  
"See you later then." McCoy left the room momentarily to ask the guard outside to help him with Chêchanna, "is it okay if I borrow your guard? It'll only take a minute and he'll be back here."  
  
"Mm." Chekov mumbled, wishing the Doctor wouldn't keep interrupting him.  
  
"Okay then. See you in a bit."  
  
Once outside, having second thoughts, McCoy commed security and asked for a replacement guard to be sent to stand guard outside of Sick Bay.  
  
Lieutenant DeSalle, who had been getting extremely bored, volunteered.  
  
It took him ten minutes to get up to Sick Bay.  
  
And when he looked inside to alert Chekov he was there, the young Ensign as no-where to be seen. 


End file.
